


Theme Song

by mochisquish



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochisquish/pseuds/mochisquish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles featuring Sam Flynn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lightcycle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally created for the [TRON 20 in 20](http://tron20in20.livejournal.com) challenge.

He whips around a corner with masterful precision, on a vehicle that shouldn’t exist, on a road made from numbers.  There’s no law here, no one to say he’s going too fast or driving recklessly when he’s simply giving his spirit what it craves.

Riding on the lightcycle brings a strange mix of freedom and entrapment that makes Sam’s stomach tumble and heart swell.  It’s connected to the Grid; it’s a machine of infinite possibility that’s trapped inside a world only as big as his imagination.

Sam’s already been damaged by the real world.  He’s already been told he can’t and he’s already learned limitations, and he could create anything inside this space if he only believed that he could.

Sam misses the wind in his hair, misses the green and blue flooding his vision when he streaks down the highway on his father’s Ducati.  He misses the rules and misses breaking them.  He misses the chaos of human order, feels uncomfortable that things on the Grid are hardwired and uncompromising; hates that he can force his will with a few lines of code.

In the real world, on his motorcycle, he feels free.  In the Grid, on his lightcycle, he’s untouchable, but Sam knows now he doesn’t want to follow his father’s footsteps.  He never wants to be a god.


	2. Integration

Sam wonders who he’d be if he was two people, wonders how much of CLU was an extension of his father and then shuts those thoughts away.

He doesn’t want to believe they were the same person, doesn’t want to know what horrifying aspect of himself would be unleashed if he was split apart.

He commits to doing everything himself, doesn’t create new Programs to help, sometimes denies the aid of friends.  He never wants to nurture two people, can barely take care of one, but Quorra is always there, not his better half, but another whole, a good whole, strong and courageous, and Sam feels more than complete - he feels invincible.


	3. Late

Sam burst out laughing when Alan asked if he’d return his DVDs to the video store on his way home.  When the older man raised an eyebrow in response and grumbled under his breath, it was then Sam realized he wasn’t joking.

“No one uses video stores anymore,” he teased, waving the dirtied plastic cases in front of his face.  “Watch cable or get Netflix.  I can show you how to download -”

“No,” Alan stated sternly, throwing up a hand to quiet him.  “Nothing illegal, _Sam_.”

“You should get a Blu-ray player too.”

“These discs work fine.  If you don’t want to return them, just say so.”

“No, no.”  Sam shook his head, put on his serious face.  “I’ll do it.  I’m going that way anyway.”

Alan smiled slightly, said in a tone much lighter, “Okay, thanks.  Just, you know, drop them in the slot.”

There was a nod and a slight bite of the tongue because Sam knew how it worked.  He bid Alan goodbye cheerfully, with a grin both amused and pitying, the look children give to parents who are confused by double-clicking and changing video inputs.

The store was closed by the time he arrived, with one window blacked out and 50% off signs hanging in the others.  He flipped the cases around in his hands, felt the grainy covers and took a shy whiff of the plastic infused with cigarette smoke.  It was familiar and comforting and as much as Sam loved the convenience of hard drives and the magic of the internet, he loved the weight of the disc, that thing that let him know it was real.

Sam loved running through the video store, through the kids’ section, through comedies, through the adult display if he was feeling especially brave and risky.  He loved hearing his father say he could pick two movies instead of one – add a Nintendo game because it was Friday.  Sam loved sitting on the couch, loved the whirring sound of the machine as it swallowed a VHS, and loved being trusted with the power of the remote control.

His gaze happened back towards the metal slot on the wall, a faded gold dusted in scratches.  The store was shutting down and these discs were already useless; were already unappreciated and old.  It was too late for them and too late for the store, and so Sam stuck the cases back in his pouch, would pay the fee if Alan mentioned it, but he wanted to keep them, always.


	4. Pixel

It was a clutter of pixels, a few lines up and some to the side, but it looked just like him.  A grin graced Sam’s features as he jerked the joystick left, making Tron do a funny jig as he obeyed the User’s commands.  Up, right, up, over again, and he hit the MCP, saved the Grid for the umpteenth time that night.

“Well done, buddy,” he said to the screen.  Another quarter was inserted into the game and Sam prepared for battle once again.  It wasn’t a replacement for Tron or for the Grid, but it held better memories and was far less dangerous.

When the game restarted and Tron appeared, in his white suit from the old system, and the machine beeped and booped and did its best to entertain the player with its flashy new technology, Sam felt at peace.  Life on this Grid was simple, it was small, it was a bunch of pixels on a screen – something Sam actually understood – something he felt capable managing.


	5. Sea of Simulation

Sam expected to find him here.  He told himself he was looking for Tron – told the same to Quorra when she asked why he’d grown obsessed with the digital waters, but it was a lie.  He didn’t know why he expected something from the Sea of Simulation, only knew water gave life and offered rebirth, it cleansed and nourished, and was the only hope he had left in this world that was so orderly yet so completely lost.

He sat.  He sat where the waves hit the shore, crashing and receding, looking and feeling the same as they did on the beaches back home.  The sound was similar, constant and calming, but there were no birds, no tiny crabs nesting in the sand, and his father’s laughter was absent as well, swallowed by time and drowned in the water.


	6. Fight

The hit came to the back of his neck, sharp and quick though the pain it left was dull and throbbing.  Sam stumbled forward, caught his footing and whipped his staff backwards blindly.  It was blocked by a forearm, twisted into his opponent’s grasp and yanked away with such ease Sam didn’t know whether to be awed or completely terrified.

He heard a clank as the pole hit the ground, bounced, and rolled away, as if to say, “Fuck this, I’m out,” and he barely had enough time or presence of mind to throw his leg up to protect his torso from another blow.

He curled his body, tried to expose as little of himself as possible, but the strikes came more rapidly and his chances came fewer and farther between.  Sam dropped to the ground, threw out a leg that caught between the black-cloaked limbs before him.  There was a grunt and a slight flail and then both were on the floor.

Sam scrambled to his feet, kicked the remaining weapon away and held out his hand.

“You almost got me.”

Quorra grabbed high on his arm, yanked forward and laughed as Sam met the ground with his face.

“I did get you.”


	7. Completion

There’s a hand on his back, fingers digging into flesh, so painful and so delicious.  Sam doesn’t like Ed, but he likes how he feels, likes how he cries out and leaves that arrogant smirk behind when Sam’s hips are thrusting against him.

They’re different - too different - so at odds names have been called and punches have been thrown, but neither can get enough.  They both love the abuse, are drawn to it like moths to flame.  They spend their time picking at each other’s brains and clawing at each other’s flesh because both need to know how the other works.

Ed groans again and Sam answers with a needy moan of his own, then covers the man’s mouth with his lips.  The kiss is rough and animalistic, and he bites, hard, until there’s resistance and blood is drawn and he’s marked him.

Sam is a mystery to Ed, with ideas that can’t be deciphered and actions that can’t be explained.  He’s a hazard and he’s a con-artist and he gets away with everything while Ed is dealt lashes for sneezing.

They are nothing alike, have nothing in common, but they feed on each other, suck the life from each other; would die if left alone.


	8. Power

“Sam.”

“Hey.”

“You beckoned?”

“I did.  And you took your sweet time getting here, Dillinger.”

Ed waltzed into Sam’s office, hands in pockets and thumbs running over the fabric of his slacks.  “I was working, unlike some silver spooned cretins.”

“This silver spooned cretin owns you, so if you would shut your mouth and look over this coding…”  His arm outstretched and he dangled a thumb drive in front of the other’s face.

Ed snatched the drive away, mocked, “Too busy to do it yourself?  You spend a lot of time playing digital cowboy, don’t you?”  Arms crossed and head turned down so he was staring over the brim of his glasses.  “In this thing called the Grid.”

Eyes flicked up and jaw clenched as Sam tried to hide his surprise.  He waved him off, said, “What does that mean?  Go do your work.”

“I don’t know why you send personal emails using ENCOM’s servers.  They’re not very secure.”  Ed came around his desk, planted himself in front of Sam.

“Let me tell you how it’s going to work from now on.  You stop treating me like shit.  You give me a raise.  When a higher position becomes available, you consider me first.  In exchange, I stop delving into your business.  I don’t go to the arcade to see this thing for myself.”  Ed’s eyebrows raised and he shrugged, palms lifted towards the ceiling.

“Wow, invasion of privacy _and_ blackmail.”  A finger ran across Sam’s bottom lip.  “I know daddy’s rich but do you really want to go up against my lawyers?”

“Do you really want your emails entered as evidence?  Your little Grid project won’t belong to you anymore, or ENCOM - it’ll be the government’s, and who’s to say what they’ll do with your body.”

“You don’t even know what it is.  It could be a toaster oven.”

“But it’s not.  I understand context.  It sounds impossible if it’s real, or maybe it’s a fancy new drug and this ‘entering the Grid’ is a hallucination.”  He cocked his head, added, “Either way, I’ll use it to destroy you.

 “You make me your golden boy.  I keep your little secret.”  He tossed the drive in the air, caught it with a quick and nimble hand.  “You own a part of me and now I own a part of you.”


	9. Mirror

The boy sat with blonde hair mussed and thin arms crossed over his chest and stated accusingly, “Uncle Alan said you were fun.”

Sam paused, unsure if he should be offended.  “You don’t think I’m fun?”

Brian shrugged, directed his attention to a black furry blob in the corner.  “I like Marv.”

“Yeah, Marv is pretty cool,” he echoed, twinge of jealousy in his voice.  “You like action figures?”

“You have G.I. Joes?”

Sam’s lips pursed before he gave a defeated, “No.”

“Do you have Batman?”

“Mmm…  Well, look, I have these.”  He rose, pulled a shoebox from under his bed that rattled with each heavy step back towards the couch.  “I’ve got Tron,” Sam announced, recovering a small plastic man from the pile.  He held it out to Brian, fingers pinching the toy’s waist firmly but gently.

“That one’s kind of old.”

Sam couldn’t help but grunt, “Batman’s older.”  He reached in again, set a lightcycle model on the coffee table.  “You know what the great thing about Tron is?”

“He fights for the Users?”

“Hey, that’s right.”  Sam chuckled, gave a pleased smile.  “One day, I got in.”

“You got in?  Into what?”

“The Grid.”

“That’s not real.”

“Sure it is!  I met Tron and…”  He rolled the figure in his palm before burying it in his fist.  “…And CLU, and all the other Programs who look just like real people.”

The boy smiled, eyes glistening with wonder, eating up this fantasy, entranced by Sam’s enthusiasm.

“Someday, I’ll take you there.”

“Really?  I could see it too?”

“Sure.”

“You promise?”

Sam watched him quietly, with his big eyes and soft, innocent features, and he ruffled his hair, answered, “I promise.”


	10. Defense

“What is that?”

Alan looked over the edge of his newspaper, disinterested.  “What’s what?”

“This,” Sam clarified, tapping his laptop’s monitor.  “These pixels are damaged and it looks like the monitor’s been scratched.”

Ed stuck his fork in his chicken salad, commented dryly, “Isn’t that unfortunate.”

“There are four scratches, equally spaced.”

The newspaper fell slowly below Alan’s chin as he regarded the two men on either side of the boardroom table cautiously.

Ed grunted, “Hmm,” licked off the remaining shreds of chicken and mayonnaise.

“Like someone ran a fork across it.”

“That’s weird, why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know, you little ass, why don’t you tell me?”

Ed cocked his head, gave an annoyed sigh.  “I have better things to do, quite frankly.  Go buy another computer with the money in daddy’s trust fund.”

Sam shot out of his seat, so quickly and with such force the heavy leather chair almost crashed to the ground.  Alan rose to meet him but Ed stayed put, lazily swiveling left and right.

“He didn’t do anything, Sam.”

“Of course he did!  Look at him!”

Ed shrugged, palms to the sky.

“It was me, I – I dropped it.”

Sam gave a quick glance at Alan, then refocused on Ed.  “You don’t have to lie for him, Alan.  I won’t hurt him much.”

“No, really,” he restated, waving his arms in an attempt to calm Sam down.  “I borrowed it, tripped with the monitor open.”

Ed lifted an eyebrow, drawled, “I did it.”

Sam looked back at his old friend.  “He says he did it!”

Alan whipped his head towards Ed, flustered.  “He’s lying.”

“No I’m not.”  The young employee stood calmly and made for the door.  “You can come get me.”


	11. Bugs 1

Sam’s lips pursed impossibly tightly as the kid on the floor in his dull gray jumpsuit asked him the question he hated most.

“Did you turn the power off and turn it back on?”

His response was a cold stare, almost serial killer quality, but the young man simply locked eyes until Sam nodded tersely.

“It looks like you got a virus.”

“Yeah.  That’s why I called.”

“The CEO of ENCOM can’t battle a little virus?” he asked with a good-natured chuckle, but Sam didn’t join in his merriment.

“I didn’t want to ruin any files,” he said, offended.

“Looking at porn on company time?” the tech asked, trying again for a laugh and striking out twice.

“Fix the problem, please.  I have work to do.”

The man looked down sheepishly, answered, “Yes, Mr. Flynn.”  He tinkered, pressed keys, then hit keys, turned the computer on and off, unplugged and plugged back in, all while keeping his eyes away from Sam and his judgmental gaze.

Then he laughed.  Did not giggle or chuckle, but straight up laughed.

“It’s a background,” he announced, clicking through menus until it was replaced by a default sunset.  “Someone must have printscreened your desktop and hidden all your icons.  It’s a classic joke.”

Sam pulled the computer chair away until the man took the hint and stood up.  He grumbled under his breath, but the technician assured him, “It’s funny.”


	12. Bugs 2

“What is it?”

“It’s a spider,” Sam quipped, rolling the arachnid around in the glass jar.  Tron bent forward with arms crossed and eyes like slits as he inspected.

“Why?”

“Why is it a spider?”

“It looks like a Grid Bug.  You brought a Grid Bug here?”

“No, it’s just an animal in the real world, though women tend to find them as scary as Grid Bugs.”  Sam heightened his voice, gave a shrill cry as he performed jazz hands.  “ _Ahh!  Spider!_ ”

Tron’s expression remained unchanging and unamused.  “I don’t think you should have brought that here, Sam.  It closely resembles a Grid Bug.”

“It’s not a Grid Bug,” he huffed.  “It’s not dangerous at all.”

“Let it out.”

Sam paused, said, “No.”

“I want to see it.”

“It’ll run away.”

“You can’t bring something here and not let me see it,” Tron mumbled.  Sam shrugged in response, went to set the jar down, but Tron snatched it away.  Sam grabbed for it, pushed the other man off-balance and sent the bottle crashing to the floor.

Sam gasped, “Oh shit,” eyes darting.  “Where’d it go?  Where did it go?!”

“You said it wasn’t dangerous.”

“It’s not, it’s just really gross.  Ahh, oh God, do you see it?”

“I don’t understand.  Why are you upset?”

“Tron, I swear, just kill it!”

The Program looked taken aback.  “I will not, it hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Sam threw hands in the air, yelled, “It poisoned my best friend, okay?  It poisoned him and his head exploded and now he is dead, so kill it, _please_.”

Tron was flustered by this, caught movement from the corner of his eye and leapt into action.  His foot came down like a mighty hammer, again and again until the radius of damage was much bigger than it should be.

“It’s not derezzing,” he stated, staring down at the floor.

Sam walked over cautiously, said, “You have to clean it up with a paper towel.”

Tron scanned the empty, sterile room, eyes catching nothing but black walls and a sharply angled, geometrically designed couch.  He regarded Sam, whose lips pursed as reality slowly hit.  The User gave a terse nod and walked past his friend, jogging more quickly as he hit the door and escaped to the outside leaving Tron alone with a collection of guts and legs.


	13. Bugs 3

Sam was dying.  Quorra didn’t know how or what from, but had to believe him when he said it.

He turned on his side, sniffled into a tissue and groaned.  “Quorra -”  A cough cut him short and Sam lifted a weak hand to his mouth.  “Quorra, where’s the Tylenol?”

“Here, Sam!” she yelped, practically throwing the bottle at him.  She knelt down beside the couch, watched anxiously as he swallowed two pills.

“Thank you…  Quorra…the soup.”

“The soup, right!”  She sprinted off towards the kitchen and turned off the stove which was heating a giant pot.  The liquid was poured into a waiting bowl and a spoon plopped in.  Quorra jammed the full spoon into Sam’s mouth, made him jump out of his skin when the broth burned his tongue.

“What is this disease again, Sam?  What did you call it?”

“It’s a cold,” he managed, rolling his tongue in his mouth.  “It’s like a Grid Bug’s attached itself to my immune system and is sucking the life from me.”

“It’s horrible,” she whispered, loading up another spoonful of noodles and chicken broth.  Sam reached for the spoon but she was too quick, and it was in his mouth again, leaving a burning trail down his throat.


	14. Bugs 4

They weren’t bugs, they were a business.  Sam tried to explain this to Alan, but the older man had his doubts and expressed them, as he liked to do.  Sam didn’t know anything about bees, sure, but he knew they made delicious honey, which could be used to make alcohol or…honey.  If he wanted.

“Why, Sam?  Why bees?  You don’t need any money.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped back.  “It’s a hobby.  I thought you’d be happy I’m trying to occupy myself instead of jumping off buildings.”

“Occupy yourself, yeah, with dangerous insects.”

“Only dangerous if you’re attacked by a swarm,” he corrected, wagging his finger.  Alan gave a wry smile halfway between disgust and disbelief.

“Did you ever see the movie, _My Girl_?”

Sam wrinkled his nose, responded, “No, why?”

There was a shrug and the simple advice of, “You should check it out.”


	15. Bugs 5

“Sam, _Sam_ , what are these?”  Quorra hopped in front of a tank excitedly, tapping on the glass so hard she dislodged one of the tiny residents from the wall.

“Those are beetles,” he answered vaguely, half-wondering why she insisted on hearing everything from him when plaques sat on the wall with more information than he could give.

“And these?” she asked, eyes looking up quizzically.

“Roaches.”

“Like in the kitchen?”

“Uh…”

“Why don’t we put the roaches in the kitchen in one of these tanks?  Like pets?”

“No, that’s unsanitary.”  He cringed, wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before.  “They’re not really pets.  They’re just here for people to look at.”

Quorra said nothing at first, stared at Sam as if contemplating.

“We should set them free,” she announced finally.  “They’re prisoners and that’s wrong.”

“The animals aren’t prisoners, this is a zoo.  They’re all very well taken care of, way better than if they were running around my kitchen.”  The last part came out in a grumble as Sam shifted his weight to his other foot.

He pat Quorra on the shoulder as he walked past, but she remained still, mind racing.  Sam sprinted back when he heard a sharp smack, grabbed her hand just in time to stop her from punching the tank again.  People turned and whispered and Sam pulled her along, straight towards the exit as she looked back at her captured friends, forced to leave them behind.


	16. Pride

He smells like jail, like weed he didn’t smoke and urine he didn’t piss.  He smells like a punk’s cheap cologne and stale old wood and it’s become his second skin.  Sam isn’t a criminal – he doesn’t think so – but he spends a lot of time with criminals and delinquents and lost souls whose only sanctuary is a jail cell, sealed to keep the rest of the world at bay.

Sam’s gotten scathing remarks and he’s gotten punched, once for running his mouth and once for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He’s felt another man’s hand around his neck and dirty, greased fingers trail over his cock and he’s come pretty close to being a brute’s girlfriend.

 The first time it happened, he laughed.  The second time, he laughed, and then he lost count.

His inheritance is his out; he could own the cops if he was crooked, but he mocks them instead.  Sam wastes their time, he wastes his own, and he wastes Alan’s.  He wastes his life because his father worked and sacrificed to award him such comforts, and he breaks the law and butts heads with the police because he thinks he has something to say and thinks the rest of the world should listen.

Sam makes it a point to ignore criticism and those who believe they can save him, and he ignores Alan though it hurts them both.  Now, again, he questions the man’s motives, tells him curtly he is no longer needed, plays the martyr by emphasizing tonight’s stay in jail that he brought upon himself.

There’s a remark about Sam’s father and the boy counters immediately and they’re at a standstill.  Alan doesn’t raise his voice to Sam - not anymore.  His dominance was rejected long ago, yet when his tone is soft and words are broken, Sam can’t help but be crushed by guilt. 

The older man’s features wrinkle and it’s different from the normal look of rejection and disappointment to which Sam is accustomed.  Alan doesn’t push him, only wears that weak smile that’s sad and disarming - that smile that affects Sam more than he’d like.

He watches his father’s friend in silence, with lips downturned and beer slipping from his grasp, and when Alan tosses the arcade keys to Sam, Sam doesn’t throw them back.


	17. Secrets

Sam was at an event he didn’t care to attend with people he didn’t care to meet.  The young CEO garnered much attention, received many offers, both business and pleasure, but wasn’t sold on any of them.  Someone ordered him a drink – a free drink at a free bar that he could have gotten himself – and it was then the laughter came because this was getting ridiculous.

The owner of Stark Industries waited patiently for him to accept, a smirk of his own painting his face.  Sam had seen him from afar, held silent admiration for the hero but wasn’t one to leap at the chance to hobnob with celebrities.  Tony had a way about him with his mussed hair and fine, fitted suits, and the way his lips curled when he claimed, "I am Iron Man," which he did often while intoxicated and in the presence of women.

“Young Mr. Flynn,” he greeted, throwing out a hand for Sam to shake.  “Been looking for you.  I have a proposal.”

Sam took a sip of the brandy gifted him, swallowed hard to encourage the burn down his throat.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, ENCOM doesn’t deal in robotics and weaponry.  We make video games and operating systems.”

“Actually, I’m in need of a good typing program, maybe a solitaire application I can access from the suit.  Can you whip up something like that?”

Sam raised a playful eyebrow.  “I doubt Tony Stark needs help programming solitaire.”

“Y’know, Sam – I’m just gonna call you Sam – there have long been rumors that your father discovered something big, something that would change the world.”

There was a pause, eyes trailing over Tony’s face, unreadable past his smile.  “I don’t know anything about that.”

“If you want to be a part of something bigger, if you want to help people…” he trailed off, took a moment to gauge the boy’s reaction.  “You could be my sidekick, or rather, my mechanic, or really, the person who supplies the mechanic with the tools he needs.  You could be my foreign auto parts salesman.”

They both chuckled and Sam shook his head, attention directed at the deep amber liquid in his hand.  Tony came closer suddenly, cocked his head until he practically licked Sam’s ear when he spoke.

“If it could be used for evil, if it has to be protected, you can come to me,” he whispered, and Sam’s jaw clenched and heat rose in his cheeks.

“There’s nothing like that…”

“There’s no mind control machine, no shrink ray?”

“No.”

Tony shrugged, downed the last of the spirit in one satisfied gulp.  Sam’s glass remained full but he set it on the bar regardless, nodded at the older man to bid him goodbye.  He walked only a few feet before he was beckoned again and turned promptly on his heels in time to watch Tony’s glass rise towards him in a toast.

The iron man smiled, said simply, “Ideas can be dangerous too.”


	18. Forgiveness

“I want you to listen.  I just want to stand here and say what I need to say and I want you to listen.”

Sam flicked an itch away from his nose, ground his heels into the ground.  He was met with silence and he sighed, savored the sound of it.

“Because you know, dad, you were always good at that when I was younger.  You listened to my stories and the ridiculous ideas that came out of my head, and you encouraged me.  You encouraged all my stupid dreams.

“I got older and it wasn’t cute anymore.  My carefree spirit wasn’t cute anymore, it was dangerous.  My opinions didn’t match your own and you thought they were wrong and you didn’t feel you had to listen.”

He paused, felt his eyes sting and cleared them with a few blinks.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I acted like a boy when I was a man.  I’m sorry I can’t be you and I’m sorry I don’t want to be.”

Hands fumbled in his pockets as he rubbed the material between his fingers.

“But I get it.  I get why you yelled and I get why you were disappointed when I said I dropped out of college and lived with a dog.  I came here today with the full intention of saying I forgive you, for leaving me and for making me feel like shit when we met again.

“You tried to teach me and I didn’t get it.  I didn’t want to listen because I’d spent so many years not listening, so many years thinking I knew what was best because you weren’t there to guide me.

“Ten years ago I would have given anything to hear you one more time – in the flesh – hear you say my name, speak to me.  Then I got the chance and now I hear you constantly.”  A finger tapped lightly at his temple as Sam stared down at the double headstones, strong and unmoving and eerily silent.

 “And I wish I could escape it.”


	19. Abandon

He’s against a wall and for a split second doesn’t remember where he is.  Sam’s face is pressed into something smooth and black like a bottomless mirror and he’s sweating but he doesn’t think he’s hot.  There’s a hand on his back, pressing harshly into his disc, smashing his body into the unbreakable surface.  Fingers trace down his spine and over the curves of his waist and they’re long and perfectly spaced and frighteningly familiar.

He gasps and pushes backwards when those fingers venture lower, takes them willingly into his body even though it’s shameful.  They twist and spread inside of him and are replaced with something else, too quickly.

Sam’s invited pain, but nothing like this, nothing so wrong - he’s never felt so guilty - but he wants it and he can’t stop.  He gives up his pride and he lets Rinzler touch him, violate him, and he likes it.  It might make him a traitor and it definitely makes him a whore, but when the other man forces in harder, wraps a hand around his cock and tugs, Sam no longer cares.

He groans and whines like he doesn’t want it so he can feel better about himself, so he can lie to his enemy and keep him believing it’s painful and he hates it so he’ll fuck him harder.

Sam gives a strangled cry as he comes, streaks of white painting the black wall, and then it’s over.  His mind is light and clouded and he can’t breathe; feels like he’s drowning.  The body behind him is still rubbing against his own and he could scream, he could struggle and fight, but he doesn’t.  He waits for it to end, patiently, indulges in it, because it’s what he wants and he may never get it again.


	20. Revenge

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“You a boy scout now?”

Ed pushed glasses up the bridge of his nose, muttered, “Yes, I was a boy scout.  You’re building the fire wrong.”

Sam brushed his leg, asked with a grin, “Were you really a boy scout?”

“You’re disgusting; don’t talk to me.”

“Did you bring the marshmallows?”

“The what?”

“I got the chocolate and graham crackers.”

Ed regarded him with eyebrow raised.

“For s’mores.  We talked about this.”

“We did,” he agreed, chin in the air, “and I asked if we were little girls.”

“And I said no.”

They looked at each other, both unmoving.

“Well, did you at least bring the hotdogs?”

“Yes,” Ed responded, “I got you your wieners, since you love them so much.”  He reached into a cooler, pulled out a small package and tossed it to Sam…who promptly tossed them into the fire.

Ed screeched, “That was dinner!” leaping to his feet in an erratic display Sam could not have predicted.

“That’s what I think of your wieners,” he spat.  “Don’t make fun of my fire.”


End file.
